TOGETHER THROUGH THICK AND THIN

That was the doctor’s recommendation after our joint examination four months ago.

We had a strong incentive to lose that weight, but it wasn’t necessarily for the most obvious reason. Clearly, good health was a noble goal, but we had a more compelling motivation:

We’re terrified of our doctor.

I erred when I called her suggestion we each lose 10 pounds a recommendation. It was neither a recommendation nor a suggestion.

It was a dictum.

My wife fared better in the pursuit, walking two miles each day and carefully monitoring her daily intake.

I tried walking too, but I didn’t seem to achieve equivalent results, notwithstanding the fact that I walked the exact same distance as she. My wife claims the deficit was because of the route I take, a suggestion that bordered on ludicrous.

“Sometimes it takes sacrifices to achieve goals,” she decrees. “Clearly, you’re unwilling to make them.”

That’s what I mean when I say she’s too uncompromising, as though spurning a jelly doughnut for a glazed is not a sacrifice.

She’s also been registering every calorie she consumes and suggests I can shed pounds if I limit my intake to less than 2,000 calories per day. I did that for about three days and found it extremely difficult. Still, I was determined to stay on course, until last Wednesday when I talked to my brother who called me from Germany where he had been vacationing. He informed me that it was Thursday in Berlin, which was great news because it meant I had a clean slate for another 2,000 calories, something I’m fairly certain I consumed even before we finished our conversation.

My wife found my time-zone theory unconvincing, suggesting I would have to actually be in Berlin in order to qualify for a new round of calorie consumption. I explained to her it would probably cost over $1,000 to fly there, given I had not made any advanced reservations, but I could save us that amount if I just ate a cheeseburger now.

“Not funny,” she squawked, taking a bite from a carrot.

The other day, we each stepped on the scale anticipating our doctor appointment coming up on Tuesday. After four months, she lost 18 pounds, I lost 3.

I considered it a victory.

“How do you figure?” my wife questioned.

“Together, the doctor wanted us to lose 20 pounds, and we lost 21. We not only met our target, we exceeded it.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” she groaned.

“I thought this was a community property state,” I argued.

When we got married, she acquired half my estate. I said “I do” and half the house was hers. Now she’s whining about sharing 7 pounds.